Happy Birthday, Aya-kun
by Pickles
Summary: Not too much to say about this; your basic Aya+Yohji shonen ai piece.


Okie, I really don't have too much to say. This is rated PG for shonen ai - no, wait, there's a   
kiss, make that PG-13... you get the drift. Not explicit. No cussing. I'll write lemons only if   
you ask me to.   
  
Disclaimers: I don't own Weiss; Koyasu Takehito does. Please don't sue, Takehito-san!   
  
This goes out to Moonflower and SetsunaReed for just being there and taking my crap in real life,   
and reading my stories and liking them. Thanks, guys.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
  
Happy Birthday, Aya-kun   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
  
I look up to the sunset. The sky, in the farthest east, is violet; it shades to blue, green,   
yellow-gold, bright orange, pink, red. The sun in itself is an almost violent orange, but warm   
and friendly still. It sets the world ablaze, autumn-colored leaves suddenly gilded to look   
bronze, tarnished brass, and then ruby set in gold, while the branches of the trees visible in   
places stand out ebony against the fiery world. Everything white is a peach-orange color; the   
world is dripping beauty. There are not, I ponder, too many sunsets like this, too many displays   
of the raw loveliness of nature, especially not in the city. The world is fonder of me than I   
thought.   
  
"Beautiful sunset, ne, Aya-kun?" a voice says softly from behind me. I know without looking that   
it is Yohji. The natural roughness of the voice tells me that much.   
  
"Hai," I agree, turning around to look at him. He doesn't look innocent, never that, but the sun   
lends its momentary magic to him too. His blonde hair has turned to spun gold. His eyes glint a   
sharp emerald, and the sunlight makes his skin look soft to the touch. Dressed in white turned   
peach, he looks promising to me, promising of a good time, promising of something more, something   
he will never offer me. I turn back to the sunset. Now I am irritated with it. Give me a sight of   
indescribable beauty, take what I want the most, gild it, and back it in splendors? It is easily   
more than enough to make a man like me bitter.   
  
He moves to stand in front of me, and I see he has a camera with him. Of late, Yohji has been   
claiming he needs an artistic outlet. I sigh, and let him take the picture.   
  
He frowns. "That's going to come out all wrong now, Aya-kun. When you were looking at me, you   
were almost innocent-looking. Now you're pissed. Do I really bother you that much?"   
  
I start, and almost smile. "No, Yohji, you don't."   
  
"Hn." He moves to my side, and the sun becomes a brilliant red as it sets. I hear his camera snap   
beside me. The sky is twilit now, all violets and blues and greens. Looking at Yohji now out of   
the corner of my eye, the magic of the sun is gone, and the magic of the moon is cast; his light   
tan almost melts into the shadows, golden hair turned oak by the half dark. I cannot see his   
eyes, but I know from working with him that they are pine green now, slowly dilating to adjust to   
the dark.   
  
He turns to look at me, and draws a breath. He brings the camera up, and takes my picture again,   
then slides the camera in his pocket.   
  
This is his last chance now. I sigh, and turn away. The day is over. They have all forgotten.   
Including Yohji, the tall, lanky playboy who holds my heart. I head back to the Koneko slowly, my   
head down. I should have known.   
  
"Wait, Aya-kun," he calls. In a defeated manner, I half-turn to him.   
  
"What?"   
  
He bounds up to me, covering the ground three times as fast as I did with his long-legged   
strides. Then he pulls a jewelry box fumblingly out of his pocket, and opens it. There is a thin,   
white gold chain with a white gold rose pendant hanging off of it, a necklace. "Here," he says,   
unclipping the clasp and slipping it around my neck. "This is for you. Happy birthday, Aya-kun."   
  
I look at him incredulously. "You - you did remember after all, then."   
  
"What, did you honestly think I would forget? You're very special to me, Aya-kun."   
  
"It's just - I don't know, Omi and Ken... thank you anyway, Yohji. It's - beautiful."   
  
"Omi and Ken didn't forget either, but we've all been so busy at the shop today is all. You can   
go in and get their presents later. Stay with me for a minute."   
  
It is night now, full night; the sky is black. Stars are winking overhead. It is not the type of   
night to be wasted. "Aren't you going out tonight, Yohji?"   
  
"Not tonight. Me and the guys are gonna throw you, like, a mini-party for you. Since there's   
only going to be the four of us." He looks away from me for a moment. "I have something else for   
you, but it'll be about an hour before it's ready. Can you wait?"   
  
"Hai, Yohji," I say to him slowly. He seems nervous for some reason. "Daijobou ka?"   
  
"Huh? Me? I'm fine, why would you ask?" He looks at his watch. "We should be going in now."   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
  
It has been a nice evening. Omi made a chocolate cake with chocolate icing. Ken, of course,   
managed to get it all over himself. We watched some American movie, and passed a sake bottle or   
two around. It was pretty mindless, but we all laughed. Even me. Omi gave me a copy of Jane Eyre;   
he knows my love of classical literuature. Ken gave me tickets - two; who does he think I'm going   
to go with? - to the Tokyo Theatre. And Yohji...   
  
Yohji wasn't in the living room for more than ten minutes at a time. Whatever he's doing back in   
his room, it's time consuming.   
  
I head towards my room. Ken and Omi have retreated to their beds, as well; I am tired. I want to   
sleep.   
  
I open my door, and my eyes are assaulted. Yohji is sitting on my bed, holding something in a   
box. It's not that I don't like Yohji. But in my room - on my bed! - is most certainly an   
invasion of privacy.   
  
"Konban wa, Aya-kun," Yohji says softly.   
  
"Konban wa, Yohji," I answer stiffly. "Is there something you want?"   
  
"Yeah. C'mere, sit next to me." He pats the bed next to him. That I refuse to indulge; Yohji   
should be scared to death of entering my room.   
  
"I'll stand, thanks. Couldn't you have given me this in the living room? I'm coming close to a   
shi-ne with you." This is the best warning he will get. He should take it, and move.   
  
"Well, here then." Yohji stands up, and ambles over next to me. He hands me the box.   
  
I open it. In it, cushioned in paper, is a book, a photo album. The binding and cover are good   
leather. It must have cost him a fortune. I take the album out, and walk over to my desk chair   
with it. The cover is stamped with a geometric design, but the book is not titled. I open it. On   
the inside of the cover there is an inscription in Yohji's blocky hand:   
  
Aya--   
  
Happy birthday. Angels always make the best models.   
  
--Yohji   
  
Surprised, I look up and raise an eyebrow at him. "Yohji...?"   
  
"Just look through it."   
  
I turn the page to the first pictures, and my surprise turns to shock. Every pciture is of me,   
or something I have done. Flower arrangements of mine. Me sitting at my chair, reading the paper.   
That one is a series of four, with a little caption: The Morning Ritual. Me practicing on the   
roof with my katana: Honing Necessary Skills. Even a few pictures of me returning bloody from a   
mission: The Avenging Angel Returns Victorious. Some of me glaring in the shop: Buy Something Or   
Get Out. Everything is a series. Hundreds of pictures of me. And then the ones from today are on   
the last page: Aya's Sunset. Golden Angel.   
  
I look up at Yohji. "You took all these pictures of me... why?"   
  
"For your birthday."   
  
"But why me?"   
  
Yohji colors slightly, and looks away from me. "Angels really do make the best models."   
  
"What... are you trying to say to me?"   
  
Yohji looks back at me, and his pine green eyes look - pleading almost. "I'm saying... you are my   
angel, Aya, my fallen angel. I'm saying I love you."   
  
Yohji... loves me?   
  
I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks, and I am mentally cursing my body as I say, "Me?"   
  
"Yes, you."   
  
"But... you... you never said you were yaoi." I'm fighting this as hard as I can. I don't even   
stop to wonder why. I know Yohji. This could be a joke.   
  
"Would you?... Are you?"   
  
"I wouldn't say anything. And... it depends. Is this your twisted sense of humor kicking in   
again?"   
  
Yohji looks hurt. "Do I look like I'm kidding to you, Aya-kun?"   
  
"No, you don't." Now I can't stall anymore. It's either lie and maybe hurt him, or tell the truth   
and let myself open up. Horribly of me as it is, I'm thinking about the first one. The prospect   
of the second one really scares me that much.   
  
While I am in the middle of thinking about this, Yohji says to me, "Aya, just let me know if I've   
got the slightest chance in hell of ever getting you to feel this way about me. If I don't, I   
swear I'll leave you alone. I won't tease you anymore, I won't call you Aya-kun; I won't - won't   
even take your picture anymore." And then he looks at me, all hopeful and pleading and somehow   
naive. "Just let me know?" And my chances of lying to him have just been tossed out of a thirty   
story window.   
  
I look away from him. My face is burning. I hate my body chemistry when it comes to Yohji. It's   
determined to embarrass me.   
  
I struggle for words for the first time in my life. I can't figure out how to say what I need him   
to hear without showing him all my cards, and giving him the advantage. My hand sneaks up to my   
new rose necklace and grasps it, like it'll help somehow.   
  
Yohji has taken my silence as a no. He stands up, and refuses to look at me. "If you ever change   
your mind, Aya-san, just let me know. I'll be here."   
  
He's leaving without me talking to him? I don't think so! "But I haven't said anything yet!" I   
say suddenly. The words are hurried.   
  
"You don't have to." Yohji begins his walk to the door.   
  
"Yohji, wait."   
  
He turns to me. "You - want something?"   
  
"Sit. I need you to be here while I figure out how to say this." I am fiddling nervously with the   
rose now, twisting the chain and hoping it doesn't break. He moves cautiously to the bed and,   
when he sees no shi-ne forthcoming, sits there.   
  
Meanwhile, my mouth unsticks itself somehow. It may have something to do with the alcohol I had   
earlier, but my tongue slicks, and I begin to speak. "I... have always preferred men to women.   
And I-I care about you, Yohji. I really do. The same way you care for me, I think. But... I tend   
to be short tempered, and a little selfish. And I have problems being with people. It's hard for   
me to care, to love. I would need you to be patient with me. Do you think you could handle that?   
Because you tend to leave once you've got what you want. And I couldn't handle that. If I opened   
up to you, and you left me... I don't think I would ever be able to love again. So could you do   
that? Could you promise to stay, and be patient? Because neither is like you at all." I cannot   
believe I have said all that, but I am looking at him, and my hands have folded themselves   
neatly in my lap. Yohji is looking at me like he's never seen me before. Then he smiles, and   
crosses his legs meditation-style on my pillow.   
  
"Aya, I would never leave you like that. I would need something permanent from you too, because I   
live with you; and you're not just some girl from a club. I love you. That's what it's all   
about."   
  
That sounds so good to me. I smile at him. I am not ready to give him those words yet - maybe I   
never will be. But I do love him, and he says he loves me. That's enough for this.   
  
I stand up, and walk to my bed, then sit down next to him. "Do you promise? Do you promise me,   
Yohji?"   
  
"I promise you, Aya-kun." He puts an arm around me. I stiffen for a moment, then relax, leaning   
back against his shoulder. I am surprised at how natural it feels, like we've been doing it   
forever.   
  
Then he kisses me. That definitely does not feel like we've been doing it forever. It's not like   
I expected from him, either. IT's soft, and sweet. Smoky, of course - but with an underlying   
flavor of honey.   
  
I break it off to lean closer against him. He stretches his legs out. then I hear his voice, soft   
and very close to my ear. "Happy birthday, Aya-kun."   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
  
Well, that's it. What, you didn't think I'd give you a lemon with a rating like that, did you?   
But - yes, that's right, there is a but! But if you review my fic enough, I'll write one (not in   
first person though). It will be added on to this one. 


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